


How not to fall for Killian Jones (and other failed endeavours)

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Modern AU, New Year, Smut, resolutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 02:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9269270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: She wasn’t really good at any kind of resolutions - New Year’s or otherwise. Maybe that was why it was so easy to break them.





	

**SUPRISE! Hey[@xerxesrises](https://tmblr.co/m2aEjL-WQSvULdzYLodxNlg), tis I, your very tardy GFSS! This is one of those situations where what I set out to write bears little to no resemblance to what ended up on the page or what I had planned to write initially. Regardless, I hope you like it.**

A huge thank you to my wonderful beta, nickillian/Ztofan, for all her tireless efforts to make my writing not suck!

* * *

_She wasn’t really good at any kind of resolutions - New Year’s or otherwise. Maybe that was why it was so easy to break them._

* * *

_7:52 pm_ Failure one: Not thinking of or fully considering the consequences

 

Bored and listless, Emma Swan drummed her nails on the surface of her standard issue corporate desk. Around her, the office was silent, its beige walls absent of the echoed sound of her workmates chatter. This was unsurprising, considering it was New Year's Eve and almost 8pm but still disconcerting when used to the hubbub of the dozens or so coworkers who shared the twelfth floor. She stared at the phone for the hundredth time, willing it to ring and give her something to do, yet it remained stubbornly quiet.

Letting out a frustrated huff, she picked up her lukewarm coffee and knocked back an unpleasant gulp while she reminded herself that she had _volunteered_ to work that night (and that it was triple pay that she badly needed).

It had seemed a great idea at the time; now, not so much.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of the red leather jacket that hung over her chair and pulled out a small, black leather notebook. It had been a gift from her closest friend and one time roommate - Mary Margaret - one that had started out as a trendy ‘bullet journal’ when Emma had complained one too many times about not being focused enough in her life. Her friend had sworn that this would change everything. Well, it hadn’t taken long for daily lists with twee little codes and pretty pens to be replaced with grocery lists scrawled in sharpie and the once pristine pages to be stuffed with receipts and business cards.

Emma flicked to the back and grabbed one of the number 2 pencils that sat in a pot on her desk. She scrawled at the top of the page: _Emma Swan, 2016._ And beneath began a start assessment of her life.

  * 31 years old
  * Proud renter of a one bedroom apartment with a kickass view of Boston Harbor
  * Owner of a car older than she is
  * Single
  * Hopelessly addicted to hot cocoa (with cinn


  * __Stuck in a goddamn rut.__



 She underlined the last one three times. Tapping the eraser of the pencil against the page, she paused.

[[MORE]]

Mary Margaret had once told her that her problem was that she spent so long pondering what direction to take her life yet so little time putting anything into action (hence the damn journal). At the time she had brushed off the comment, but now, begrudgingly, she had to admit her friend was right. While Mary Margaret was always working on improving herself (and had even found just about the best still-single man in the city), Emma was still exactly where she had been for the past few years. That’s not to say that Emma was unhappy… just a little lost. Or maybe unfulfilled. And certainly lacking in direction.

Like her current place of work, for example. It was yet another one of those situations where her laissez faire attitude had led her down a path that she had not intended. See, this job was _supposed_ to be temporary - a short work contract, earning her enough to pay some of her overdue rent and get her landlord off her back. An old friend, Ruby, had hooked her up after they’d met up for some drinks and Emma had bemoaned her financial situation. A few weeks working for Mills Security Systems seemed an easy enough way to supplement her bail bonds income (which had taken a nose dive that Spring) and when her friend had told her it was 20 dollars an hour for simply monitoring some alarm systems and taking a few calls, she’d been sold.

Yet now the year was drawing to a close but her ‘temporary’ contract was still going. She had just about paid back her rent when her car had decided to break down, maxing out her credit card and thus extending her supplemental job. She’d even became eligible for basic health care now she’d been there for so long…

Okay, so there were a few positives. She had her own desk - which was a step up from working out of the driver’s seat of her VW Bug. It even had three, half-sized walls around it which gave a modicum of privacy when she was sending WhatsApp messages during working hours. She did like the paycheck. It came in a crisp white envelope, once a week delivered to her little cubicle (the one labeled E. Swam in some clerical error. She’d changed the M to and N with a Sharpie). She liked the regular (ish) hours and the climate controlled environment that meant less time spent freezing in her car or apartment (heating wasn’t cheap during the cold-ass east coast winter). She even liked most of her coworkers. So far, so good?

Well, there was one particular fly in the ointment that made her resolve to quit the job as soon as possible even stronger: Killian Jones, the head of finance who she’d met that first week, and then tried to avoid ever since.

Okay, okay, let’s back up a little.

It had been her third day. She’d already jammed the copier and gotten scolded for taking someone else’s coffee cup from the break room (seriously, it was plain white and looked exactly like all the others). She’d been told to attend a team strategy meeting one floor up on 12 and arrived with her (non-stolen) coffee cup and a minute to spare meaning the only seat in the tiny room had been next to… him. Him being the most attractive man she had seen in a long, long time. Her quick assessment of him as she looked for a seat noted his glossy dark hair and piercing blue eyes and the nonchalant way he crossed his legs at the ankles as they sprawled out in front of him. It wasn’t like she was exactly an innocent gal, but the way he had looked her up and down as she approached the chair beside him had her stomach doing flips and an uncomfortable heat growing between her thighs.

_Goddamn it._

(It had been way too long.)

Then as she’d sat, he’d turned and looked her in the eyes, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. He’d introduced himself and then asked her name, repeating it in his silky English accent. It had cut through her like a hot knife through butter and she’d known straight away that he was trouble.

Hey, if things had been different, if she’d met him at a club after a few drinks, she’d have made it quite clear that she thought he was highly fuckable and then added him to her ‘one and done’ list. But even Emma Swan, not exactly employee of the year, knew that one night stands with work colleagues were a recipe for disaster.  

Problem was, he was gorgeous. He was that _easy_ kind of handsome. The kind that took your breath away but at the same time just suited him so well that you couldn’t help but stare, even as your cheeks flushed and your mind turned to goo. And then there was just something about the way he held himself, his manner and posture, that made her want to fucking swoon.

So like a rabbit startled by headlights, she’d decided then and there to not put herself in any situation where she’d be tempted to exercise poor judgment--no matter how freaking hot he was. When the meeting was over she’d scuttled back to the 11th floor as he was distracted by a coworker, yet not without the nagging feeling he was watching her as she left.

Of course, despite her efforts, that wasn’t the only time they had interacted.

A few weeks later, for Ruby’s birthday, a bunch of people had headed to a bar downtown after work to toast in her new age with pineapple margaritas. She didn’t think Killian Jones was exactly a friend of Ruby’s (though she’d mentioned offhand just how ‘hot’ he was in his ‘tight, ass-hugging pants’) so Emma hadn’t hesitated to tag along. But, unexpectedly, he had turned up, looking _perfect_ in a pale grey suit and sky blue shirt, his tie removed and his hair ruffled oh-so-perfectly.

Emma had almost panicked. Which she knew was ridiculous... He was just a guy! She’d met thousands! But whenever she glanced in his direction (and she couldn’t resist), it seemed like he was wearing the most intense, curious look that had made her feel completely naked and exposed. It had ended up with her feeling hot under the collar and thoroughly frustrated. So she took the only action she could in such a situation. Putting on her best stony-faced look, she’d done her utmost to stay as far away from him as possible, practically gluing herself to the birthday girl’s side. Strategically, she had positioned herself as much out of his line of sight as she could, purposely avoiding his gaze. (And maybe, once or twice, when she had allowed herself to look again at him… maybe she saw an expression on his face that looked like disappointment.)

After that close call, they’d found themselves frequenting the coffee cart in the lobby together a few times. Waiting in line, she’d pretended not to see him, instead attempting to focus her attention on her phone. He hadn’t tried to speak to her those times. Clearly, her cool demeanor was working. See, the one thing Emma possessed in bucket loads, was self-restraint.

And I suppose the question that needs to be answers is why was she so adamantly avoiding this man? Simple. She just didn’t do relationships. After a couple that crashed and burned quite spectacularly, she’d came to the very adult conclusion that she was just not designed to be part of a pair.

Emma Swan did just fine on her own, thank you very much

Huffing softly, she opened a drawer and tossed the damn notebook away and out of her view.

 ***

_8:31 pm_

Time continued to drag painfully slowly.

Tink, the girl who usually worked the evening shift, was visiting family for the holidays and the rest of the team had split her tasks between them. Emma’s sole role tonight was to answer any customer service calls (thanks to Mills Security’s promise of ‘365 days service’) and log the details so the client could be contacted during normal office hours. She had zero idea why they just didn’t use a phone service.

She was staring at drunken photos on Facebook of friends celebrating at the parties that she _could_ have been at when she heard a noise at the other end of the floor. She knew it was only her and a security guard working that night, so she immediately grabbed the pepper spray she kept in her purse and peered over the top of her partition. Then the sound of a bang behind her practically made her jump out of her skin and she spun around.

 _What the fuck_.

It was Killian Jones, bending down to pick up what looked like a bottle of champagne that was rolling along the floor, his perfect arse exactly in her line of sight as it strained against his oh-so-tight dark jeans.

(She flushed as she imagined his ass _sans_ those jeans.)

“Shit,” she cried as her heart raced and she tried futilely to look away, “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” he replied, sheepishly dropping his chin as he stood up. “Didn’t realize anyone was up here.”

With desperately feigned aloofness, she folded her arms. She could be cool. She was alone with the a guy she’d had some pretty R rated dreams about in a deserted office building. No biggie.

(Yeah, there had been dreams to… It had been a very, very long time and he was very, very attractive.)

“Well, I am. What are you doing here?”

He smiled. (Damn he had an amazing smile.) “Ah, I left earlier and realized I’d forgotten to file a report.”

She eyed the bottle in his hands. “And you thought you’d celebrate that fact?”  

“Oh, I need to keep this chilled. I was just up here to use your refrigerator - the one on 11 doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Right,” she nodded, relaxing just a little as the initial shock of his appearance faded. These were the most words she had ever shared with the guy. She vaguely wondered if he even remembered her name.

(Because she knew his: and that he had one brother and that he had moved from England five years earlier and that he owned a sailboat - yeah, her colleagues liked to talk and she was an apt pupil when it came to Killian Jones 101.)

“So you heading to a party?” she asked, feeling a strange mixture of jealousy and yearning as he nodded.

“That’s the plan,” he smiled, “My brother said I need to stop being a miserable sod and enjoy myself for the holidays.”

“Your brother sounds like my old roommate. She’s still offended I volunteered to work tonight rather than attend her potluck dinner.”

He smiled again, much broader, exposing his pearly white teeth and she was struck by the fact that when he did so, he looked even more handsome. Her heart did a little jump and she suddenly felt, well, a little _shy_.

“Well, I’d better-” she hitched her thumb towards her silent phone.

He nodded. “Happy New Year, Emma.”

“Happy New Year,” she echoed.

(She really did like the way he said her name.)

***

 _9:37 pm_ Failure two: Keeping promises to herself  

_Twenty two minutes spent playing Candy Crush._

_Thirty five on Facebook._

_Eleven spent composing the perfect inspirational New Year post._

_And not a single goddamn phone call._

The dollar signs that had convinced her to volunteer were slowly morphing into visions of the glasses of champagne she was missing by not attending Mary Margaret’s potluck. She pulled out the notebook and  flicked back to the list she had made earlier. Her life laid out in the stark grey lines of the pencil was particularly sobering. Sure, she was doing… fine. Better than many. Yet something was missing, she just wasn’t sure what.

Maybe Mary Margaret was right - maybe she did need to really make some changes this year. She’d never been one for New Year’s resolutions, but what could it really hurt to do something different? Because doing the same old things year after year wasn’t really getting her anywhere. Hadn’t she wanted to travel and see the world? To be brave and take some chances? (Secretly, she’d dreamed of opening her own bonds bureau for over a year.)  If nothing else she knew that she did not want to spend her next New Year’s Eve surrounded by grey partition walls and lingering regrets.

The sound of Killian Jones clearing his throat startled her and she jumped in time to see him standing now six feet away, the bottle of champagne he had earlier back in his hands and covered in beads of condensation.

“Shit,” she cried, placing her hand on her racing chest, “You need to stop doing that.”

“Apologies, love,” he said advancing a step closer to her desk.

“S’fine,” she replied, waving away his apology with her hand. She looked at the bottle of champagne with more than a little envy. “So you done?”

“Aye,” he nodded, his hair bouncing over his forehead.

“Then off to this party of yours..?”

He gave her an awkward smile and then tilted his head to one side. He opened his mouth to speak and then paused before dampening his lips and repeating the process. “Look, this may sound a bit mad, but what are you doing tonight?”

“Umm…” She gave him a curious look and then gestured towards her phone. “I’m the customer support til the automated system kicks in at one a.m. and everything is forwarded to India.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned rubbing his hand across his face. “Of course you are. Mills Security’s famous promise of US-based call centers.”

A peculiar light feeling bubbled in her chest as Killian Jones - object of her lust and fascination for months now - danced awkwardly from foot to foot-

“You see, the thing is, my brother-”

“The one who said you’re a miserable sod?”

“Aye, that’s the one.” He gave her a quick, searing glance and she felt a shiver ripple down her spine. “Well, he always says I’m too uptight. That I need to be more spontaneous.”

“Okay…” she said, wondering where he was going with this.

“So, Emma Swan, who has been avoiding me since I clapped eyes on her gorgeous self five months ago, how do you feel about joining me?”

Stunned, Emma felt like she’d been slapped in the face. But in a good way. “Huh?”

“The party. I believe it’s custom to bring a date?”

Her mouth gaped open.

What was her life right now? Was she not just minutes earlier contemplating doing something different and out of her comfort zone? It was like he was freaking psychic.

Immediately, her usual defenses flung right up, spewing out reasons why this was a very, very bad idea.

“But the calls-”

“You can forward them to your cell phone.”

“If they find out-”

“They _won't_.”

“I won’t know anyone there…”

“You’ll know me… And, Emma Swan,” she blushed as he said her full name for the second time in the span of a minute, “I would really, really like to get to know you better.”

_Oh shit._

Now this was unexpected and quite frankly, scary territory. She had sworn to stay away from him, but now that seemed like such a ridiculous thing to do as she stared into his beautiful blue eyes.

She looked down at her sweater and jeans combo.

“I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”

“You look great to me.”

She was running out of excuses. And actually wanting to make excuses.

A thought suddenly occurred.

“Just gimme a minute.”

***

Ruby Lucas, whilst a great girlfriend, was foremost known among her circle of friends for her active social life and exacting preparations. As such, she kept a selection of outfits in the breakout room lockers just in case of any last minute post-work drinks or dinner invitations that just could not be attended in her usual office attire.

Most of them were short, but since Ruby was a couple of inches taller than Emma, she was able to find a black wiggle dress which fit just about right, landing an inch above her knee, with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was sexy, but not _too_ sexy. (Since she didn’t know what this was - was it a date? She wasn’t an expert in last minute New Year’s plans when she was really supposed to be working.)

She dug out a pair of black pumps with a medium sized heel that were only a little too big and checked her reflection. She was pretty sure Ruby would not mind when she found out. She was actually pretty sure Ruby would quite the opposite of mind. Next, she grabbed the emergency makeup bag that also lived in the locker and added some layers of blush and mascara before finishing the look with a red Dior lipstick that even she had to admit was very flattering. A spritz of perfume before she ran a brush through her (thankfully, freshly washed) hair and she was ready. And her heart was racing.

Nervously, she stepped back into the office. A cool shiver trickled over her skin. What was she doing? She was about to turn back, when-

“Well now, I have to admit, that’s much better.”

She hadn’t thought it was possible to blush any deeper because of this man and she had been wrong. He gave her a slow, appreciative look, one that was hot and spine tingling yet not disrespectful. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, this old thing,” she teased.

He held out his hand, “Shall we? I have a car waiting.”

“A car?” she asked.

He shrugged, “I’m CFO, have to take advantage of the perks at some point.”

“What the hell,” she shrugged in reply, placing her hand in his and letting him lead her to the elevator.

***

10:52 pm Failure three: A total misunderstanding of what she had gotten herself into

‘Party’ was perhaps a bit of an understatement.  The event was being held at one of those trendy little bars in Union Square with oversized art on the walls that contrasted with simple, neutral furniture and neon accessories. It was being hosted by a client of Mills Security, as it turned out, Killian had explained on the journey there that he’d been given the company invite.

It had been so hard concentrating on what he had been saying in the back of the sleek black sedan that had been waiting for them. Even though the back seat was pretty roomy by her VW bug size standards, they still seemed to be achingly close together as the car pulled away.

Then it hit her just how crazy this was! Five months of avoiding this man, only for her resolve to crumble in seconds. But she couldn’t find herself regretting her snap decision. He smelled damn good next to her. She peeked over at him, noticing how he’d left the top few buttons of his navy shirt open, showing a hint of chest hair. Her eyes lingered there. Biting her lip softly, she wondered just what that would feel like under her palms.

 _Down girl_ , she warned herself, puffing a breath of air over her face and trying to shift her focus onto anything other than him.

Upon arrival, Kilian had gifted the bottle of champagne upon the host (One August W. Booth, local furniture magnate and pretty skeezy in Emma’s opinion) before scooping up their own champagne flutes and observing the scene of the party in full swing.

“So,” she sighed, feeling a little awkward as she ran her free hand over the satin of her skirt and tried to think of something smart or witty to say.

“Maybe we should… mingle?” he suggested. She sighed in relief; she wasn’t quite ready to engage in solo conversation.

“I’d like that,” she smiled, taking his offered arm as they wandered into the crowd.

Up to this point, her attraction to him had been almost purely physical. But as they spent the next hour moving around the different guests and drinking just enough champagne to take the edge off her nerves, she started to see that he was really a great guy. Being one of those business-like occasions where most people don’t know each other that well, he was fantastic at putting others at ease and introducing himself (and slipping some of them a business card or two). He had the perfect combination of wit and charm that seemed to win over every woman - and man - in the room. And if she was a little proud of the envious looks some of them gave her, that was merely a bonus.

Finally, her feet began to ache and the two sought out a small table in the corner of the room.

“Wow, you really know how to work a room!”

He beamed before ducking his head a little at the compliment. “I’m generally better with people I don’t know.”

“Oh?”  
“I’m not the easiest man to get to know.”

Emma shrugged and took another sip from a fresh glass of champagne. “Well, it’s not like I’ve exactly tried to…”

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

“I tried to overlook the hiding from me at Ruby’s birthday bash, but by the third time you ignored me at the coffee cart, I was beginning to take the hint.” He pouted a little, his full pink lips looking so inviting that she could help but stare for a few seconds.  “Truth is, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages.”

“You have?”

“Emma, I’ve been quite taken by you for months now.”

How was this happening? Her breathing began to quicken.

“But you were giving me very clear signals that you weren’t interested.”

“I don’t…” she began, ready to spout out her usual ‘don’t do relationships’ spiel, when she realized just how lame it sounded. “Yeah, I guess I did. But what about this-” she gestured to the party in full swing around them.

He smiled a little coyly before his gaze dropped to studying the glass in his hands. “Before I came into the office, I’d been on a call with my brother - he lives in England and you know, time differences made it past New Year there. He was quite merry and told me that it was about bloody time that I got over myself and started living a little.”

“He sounds more and more like my friend.”

Gently, he placed the glass on the small table in front of them. Looking up, his eyes flitted over her face. “Maybe we have something in common, then; people in our lives who care more than we think we deserve. I’ve spent years living in the past, Emma, using shit I couldn’t control as an excuse to not try to change. But then I spoke to Liam and then you were there and - do you believe in fate?” she shrugged, “Well I’m not sure I do either, but I figured if ever some higher power was telling me I needed to make a change, it was tonight when I saw you in the office.”  
Her breath caught in her throat as she absorbed his words. “And the change?”

“It was taking a chance and putting myself out there,” He edged a little closer on the loveseat upon which they sat, until their knees jostled together, “Honestly, I was fully prepared for rejection and having to begin to avoid _you_.”

Lashes fluttering like some paperback heroine, Emma let herself reply with a bright smile. “I’m glad you did.”

“So am I,” he whispered.

They tipped their glasses together, exchanging daring glances as they drank. The bubbles danced over her tongue the way only a really expensive champagne can. Slowly, the music around them changed from lively into something with a more mellow beat.

“Care to dance?” he asked.

“You can dance?”

“I have many talents.”

A peal of light laughter fell from her lips as she took his hand and let him lead her to where a few other couples were swaying together. He placed her arms around his neck and his own hands about her hips. The heat, the champagne and this intoxication of him made the room swirl pleasantly, tempting her to place her head on his chest, while a part of her deep inside hummed ‘ _this feels right_ ’.

***

 _11:59 pm_  Failure four: Making sensible and rational decisions

The music became quieter as the minutes ticked towards midnight. The pair paused in their dance and Emma let her fingers brush against the tendrils of hair that spilled over his collar. He looked at her, his focus dancing between her eyes and lips until she thought she might burst with the tension.

“Hey, remember what you said about being spontaneous?”

“Yes,” he whispered, just as the countdown began.

This time it was her turn to focus on his lips. She knew that kissing him could be a beginning of something. It had been so long since she had felt that way about a man and that scared her. But not enough to stop.

Her fingers slipped from his hair to slide under the lapel of his thin wool jacket, hands drawing down over his shoulders and balling in the material, as she reached up on her toes. A second passed by, where their eyes met and both smiled, then there was a little jump in her stomach as she leant into him and pressed her mouth to his. Instantly, she was consumed by emotion: happiness, desire, fear- Until the simple physical motion of lips upon lips engulfed her completely, drowning out the countdown echoing around them. Her whole body tingled as he wrapped his arms around her pulled her body flush.

They fell apart to rousing shouts of ‘Happy New Year’, her fingers still tangled in his jacket, breathless and exhilarated.

“Wow,” she sighed, her senses slowly returning.

“Yeah,” he agreed. His cheeks were a captivating pink. Without thinking, she reached up her hand to brush against them.

“So, do you have any resolutions?” she whispered.

“Well, I definitely want to do that again.”

“Oh do you?” she teased.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice serious; the air around them suddenly thick-

And then it was as if the rest of the room faded away. He took hold of her hand, edging it back around his neck before crushing his mouth against hers once more.

Emma Swan was pretty sure she was drowning. Her whole body throbbed with need as she chased each motion of his lips. As first (or technically second-) kisses go, it was up there with the best; the explosive chemistry between them so palpable that the idea of not taking this further made her gut ache.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she paused the kiss, whispering, “Follow me,” not waiting for a response before she took hold of his hand from her waist and pulled him with her towards the service area behind the bar which currently stood deserted.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, letting him push her against the wall, his hips anchoring her own in place so that she could feel his erection pressing heavily against her and making her wish that she was wearing a more forgiving skirt that would have allowed her to wrap her legs around him and seek out the friction she so wanted.

His needy lips did as she desired, desperately claiming her again: a little recklessly, certainly without restraint, almost bruising in their determination. One hand gripped her waist while the other snuck under the hem of her skirt, teasing her thigh while his lips found her neck. She let her hands thread through his hair, not caring if she mussed it up, just wanting this feeling to not end; wanting to be as close as she could to him and whatever magic spell he had placed over her.

Finally, he tipped back his head and took a few deep breaths.

“Emma, this wasn’t what I intended-”  
“You want to stop?” she asked, feeling slightly mortified at the idea she had entirely misread the situation.

“God, no-” he cupped her face with his hands, “I just don’t want you to think that this was my aim when I asked you to come here.”

She saw honesty in his eyes - she’d always been great at telling when someone was lying. Mary Margaret  called it her superpower. He was telling the truth.

“I don’t think that,” she smiled, “If I’m honest I don’t even know what’s happening right now,” she swallowed hard and then added, “But I do know I don’t want it to stop.”

A flash of understanding crossed his face and he tipped his face closer, “Well, maybe we need to take this elsewhere…” he let the words linger a moment between them.

“Is that car still available?”

He nodded and she became captivated for a moment by his unfairly thick lashes that curved back and further enhanced the mesmerising blue hue of his eyes.

“Then let’s go.”

***

The car ride was almost unbearable. There were too many thoughts in her mind to cope with being so close to him and not having him there and then. What was going on? What was she doing? What was he thinking?

And she was taking him back to her place.

Emma Swan _did not_ bring men back to her own apartment - it was too intimate, it suggested she wanted more. But the invitation had fallen from her lips without hesitation and she’d given her address to the driver before she could overthink it.

Their hands rested next to each other, spanning the small gap between them. Emma counted the beats of her heart as the street lights zipped by. Then his fingers inched closer, slowly overlapping hers until he had taken hold of her hand. She looked at him, half hidden in the shadow of the dark interior, flashes of light flickering over his face.

God, she wanted to kiss him again. Waiting was such sweet torture - but she knew should she touch him like that now they would be consummating their new found chemistry on that very seat. So instead, she focused on the feel of his hands on her and let her eyes roam over his figure as he did the same. She could feel him study her decolletage and the exposed curve of her breasts thanks to Ruby’s predilection for low cut necklines.

Pulling up to the curb, she’d never been so thankful to get out of a moving vehicle, the pair tossing the driver a breezy ‘Happy New Year’ after Killian signed the chit.

Inside her apartment, she found herself once again pressed against the nearest wall, but this time with a lot less self restraint from both parties. His hungry lips tasted every exposed inch of skin as she clawed her fingers through his hair before yanking his shirt from his pants and sliding her palms up his back. He urged her hips apart and she felt the slit at the back of the skirt rip as she hiked her legs around him.

“Bed,” she demanded, tipping her head in the direction of her bedroom as they kissed their way across the living room.

After kicking open the door, Killian placed her back on the ground long enough for him to toss away his jacket and for them both to kick off their shoes. Then they were back, fused together, falling onto the bed as they pulled and tugged at each other’s clothes in a desperate search for the feel of bare skin.

The dress already ruined, she begged him, “Just tear it.”

With a guttural groan, he complied, foregoing the zip and yanking at the material until it gave way to the satisfying sound of threads splitting, leaving her in her simple underwear, as she concentrated on removing his shirt and fanning out her hands over his chest. His perfect chest, peppered with swathes of hair and just toned enough to say ‘hot’ rather than ‘gym obsessive’.

“You’re stunning,” he panted.

She palmed his hardness through his pants, earning another growl as her thighs clenched in anticipation of his generous size. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

He yanked down the cups of her bra as she started to work on divesting him of his remaining clothes, suckling on a nipple as his hand worked the other into a firm peak, the sensation going right to her core where her body was practically begging her to take him inside.

“Shit,” she moaned as he took a second to help her with her task, before he was left gloriously nude and exposed before her - looking better than she could have imagined - so masculine and wanton with his erection jutting out proudly, demanding to be given attention. Bending forward, she reached out her tongue and ran it over his silky length, it jerked at the sensation, but before she could touch him he took hold of her wrist-

“You first,” he insisted and before she could protest he tugged down her panties, his lips once agains exploring her breasts as his fingers parted her folds and gathered the dampness that had already formed there. “Fuck Emma you’re so wet already. Such a delicious cunt.”

The unexpected language was surprisingly a huge turn on and she pulled his lips to her mouth-

“Waiting for you to fill me up, Jones.”

His fingers danced over her clit as he paused, inches from her mouth-

“So I’m Jones now, am I? Well I guess that makes you Swan.” Without ceremony, he pushed one thick finger into her quickly followed by another, her back arched from the bed until his lips muffled her moans. Inside her,  his digits found places that had her letting out breathy little moans.

“You like that, Swan?” he asked, his eyes scanning her expression as her knees flexed and she pushed her heels into the mattress, trying to ground herself from the sensation of flying into the air.

“Yes,” she cried, her hands seeking something to also anchor themselves to him, finding his ass to be just as firm and round as it had appeared in his pants. She was now so slick that his hand was gliding silkily between her legs, harder and faster- until he fell back on his haunches, giving her a searing look, before his mouth joined his hands on the assault of her sex. His tongue flicked out to swirl around her clit and over her folds until she could no longer discern his movements in the high of sensation he was creating. Her body was folding in upon itself, the muscles of her gut and core tightening and twisting as they bended to his will, his free hand massaging her breasts and then she was spiraling out of existence into the heavenly bliss of release as the tension snapped and rippled from her in waves.

“You’re glorious,” he panted, suffocating her in an all-consuming kiss that tasted of her, pulling her back to reality and fueling her desire once again.

Reaching for his cock, she ran her hand over him, imagining how he would feel inside her while he rutted into her palm. She pressed her hand against his shoulder, trying to lay him on his back so she could return the favor.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, once again worried she was misreading the whole situation.

“Nothing, love,” he replied, still pistoning his hips as he laid a kiss to her forehead, “It’s just, if I can’t be inside you right now, I think I’m going to explode.”

_Oh, she wasn’t going to argue with him-_

“Top drawer of the nightstand,” she whispered, sitting up to watch him as he found a condom, palming her breasts as her whole body ached in expectation. It had been so long since she had gotten to this place with a guy, and even longer with someone who she could potentially care about-

It was right then, as he turned back to her, his face deliciously wrecked, that she recognized that was just it- there was something about him, something as still intangible in addition to his more obvious assets, an attraction brewing that was more than just superficial.

She _liked_ Killian Jones. Really. Truly.

Stunned, she let craving for him roll over her again as he crawled back across the bed to her, caging her body in with his, a look of pure want on his face.

“Swan,” he whispered, with a crooked smile.

“Jones,” she replied, widening her legs to accommodate him, wrapping her legs around his waist until she could feel the weight of him pressing against her entrance.

He sank into her heat, every solid inch more perfect than the last, pausing once he had bottomed out until she pressed her heels into his ass, urging him into a sensual rhythm.

His soft grunts and moans had her hot and bothered, writhing against him, seeking out further friction as he alternated between hard, quick thrusts and softer, rocking motions. Normally, Emma would be vocal with what she wanted in bed, but he just seemed to know instinctively how to make her body hum. She gave as good as she got, encouraging him with muttered ‘yeses’ and ‘harders’, getting lost in the moment - not trying to draw it out. Because she knew this could never be a one time thing. Instead, she chased her peak, wanting him to join her, grinding against him, foregoing technique for desperate motions that had one single purpose-

It worked. In a frenzy of movement, she found herself falling once more, this time her body was gripping his, dragging him with her into dizzying, euphoric release.

To the heavy beat of heaving hearts, he collapsed beside her.

Minutes later, his fingers tangled in her hair as she lay against his chest, truth be told she was a little too warm, but had no desire to move as she soaked in the post-coital bliss. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders and he ran his hand over the naked skin within his reach.

“Can I ask you a question?” she whispered.

“Of course,” he said, punctuating his reply with a kiss to her forehead. “Anything.”

“Why me? I mean, you could have your pick of anyone, Jones.”

“You’re beautiful,” he answered, without skipping a beat.

“Please…” she clucked, rolling her eyes.

“And, well, it was really a choice between you and the security guard tonight,” he joked.

“Not funny,” she deadpanned, though tossing him a grin that showed she knew he was joking.

“Okay,” he nodded, “Well, when we first met I could see the guarded look in your eyes. I recognized it. Not many wear it so openly, but you, sweetheart, are an open book.”

Her instinct was to rebuff that statement, but she knew it was true. “I’ve been… hurt.” she admitted, “More than once.”

“Me too,” he nodded

“So pain is attractive to you?”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” He shook his head, “Not exactly, love. I guess I saw a kindred spirit in you? And though you may have tried to avoid me, you piqued my interest that day. I sought you out, tried to learn a little about you. Ms. Lucas is surprisingly chatty when she brings up the daily figures.”

“I may have asked a bit about you too.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really, just don’t let that go to your head!”

He gave her a wicked grin in response. She sighed. That cheeky smile of his was probably going to be her downfall.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why did you have to be one of the good ones?”

“The good ones?” he asked, his brow creasing in confusion.

“You know… I’m pretty good at telling when someone is being dishonest.”

“Oh, for all you know, I’m just some dashing rapscallion, love.”

“You wish buddy.”

The pair fell silent for a moment.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, strangely nervously considering their current situation.

In reply, she rolled onto her front, running one hand through his hair, her eyes focusing on his mouth, until she kissed him once more.

“Mmmm,” he moaned, “I could get used to that.”

She dropped her forehead to his, her fingers drawing circles against his scalp as the reality of what this all could mean began to dawn on her.

“Killian, we work together…”

“We work for the same company, love, entirely different departments.”

“But still…” she trailed off, searching again for an out clause-

“Love, if you feel this was a mistake-”

“No,” she cried, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m just- Can we take this slow?”

The smile he gave her was a one she hadn’t seen - wide and bright, full of hope - “As you wish, my lovely Swan.”

She kissed him again, rousing them both to round number two.

***

_31st December 2017_

_Emma Swan, 2017_

  * 32 years old
  * Cohabitating with a gorgeous man who loves her (and she loves him)
  * Still have kickass view of Boston Harbor but this time sharing her bed (and life) with aforementioned gorgeous (and amazing) guy.
  * Still owner of VW Bug older than she is, but better able to afford mechanic costs since...
  * Now owner of her very own bail bonds business.


  * Very, very, sickening happy, thank you very much!,




End file.
